#with good writing and coherent plotting and all

[astro-nomaly]

Guys. Guys it’s mermay and I’m legally obligated to do something about it but I can’t get a coherent thought together for the LIFE of me SO, since I’m such a fantastic guy, YOU 🫵 YES YOU 🫵 all get to choose for me

@flirty-anon @highbookwormofthecentury @mother-spore-missa @dumb-about-legos @k-a-s-e-y-1-4 @ren-cerati @renesr3ses @morroodle @gre3n-bl0ssom @chaotetothecore @pinkyannapie @nightbreakers (do you even like Greenflower actually) wow there’s a lot of you guys huh

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

anitv Jake did WHAT

OP refers to these tags #4d chess psychological warfare#like that time in anitv jake acquires tom and successfully talks a bunch of controllers into shooting the real tom

The episode "Face/Off Pt. 3" is a classic combination of AniTV having some plot ideas with fascinating potential... and then executing those ideas so badly the show is nigh-unwatchable.

Various Animorphs are running around the yeerk pool in the season finale. (Rachel is in Tobias's brain as a yeerk to defeat the Gleet Biofilter, speaking of cool ideas that got wasted.) Jake drags Tom into a back room, and when the controllers break down the door, there are two identical copies of Tom standing there. It's kinda cool that the audience also doesn't know which one's Tom and which is Jake, because both of them immediately start shouting about how the other one is an imposter and the controllers should shoot that guy.

For the rest of the episode — which switches to focus on how Marco collapses the entire yeerk pool cavern by pulling down a single ceiling tile and throwing it against a pillar — there are two copies of Tom running around. There's some dramatic tension when we see one of the Toms get crushed to death by falling rubble and don't know if Jake just died, as well as in a later scene where one of the Toms walks in on Cassie mid-morph. That Tom demorphs into Jake, with the honestly funny line "Phew! My parents were about thirty seconds away from having a set of identical twins." Original flavor Tom is dead in the basement, but that's fine, because the Animorphs are off to a dance party. Also, Tom's back two episodes later with no explanation because Melissa Chapman needs a boyfriend. Sigh. So much potential, so badly wasted.

[apocalypticdemon]

ughhhh writing hard

[wittywallflower]

Whenever I see fanfic generalized as 'bad writing', I have to wonder wtf the speaker is reading. Because I read a lot of fic. Like, I read entire tags sometimes. And on average, fic is Decent. There is some really Great stuff, and usually the worst I come across is fic that is profoundly Mediocre. But actually Bad? So bad I wont finish reading it? That's pretty rare.

In the fandoms I normally read, anyway.

Cuz I started reading for something different and wow. I am dnf-ing stories left and right for every reason under the sun. I've quit more fics in one day than i have for entire other fandom tags. It's wild.

[thesearchforbluejello]

I fundamentally do not understand this show. The Dominion War was RIGHT THERE. Like, RIGHT. THERE. Why did we need some whack Romulus-blew-up backstory when the federation was already decimated by the war?? A follow up on the fallout of that and how the ceding of territory, the betrayal by allies, and the xenophobia of threats from both within and outside would have been SO much more interesting to me.

And they're so busy pulling half developed plotlines out of thin air that they're not even pounding in their anchor points for it all. Like, case in point, Jay looking for Icheb's cortical node. SEVEN HAS IT. IT IS LITERALLY IN SEVEN'S FUCKING HEAD. Like, okay fine easter egg? Maybe? But a major plot point isn't exactly an Easter egg?? Like obviously Beyer knows a shitload about Voyager, so at least one of them must be aware of that, so I assume it's implied... but not everyone has seen every Trek and that is from one specific Voyager episode, and Seven had the perfect opportunity to rub that in Jay's face... And are we not going to talk about Seven becoming a Ranger which is HUGELY antithetical to where she was at in Voyager? Because the fact that she became an individual on a ship that was what, 1/3 Maquis? Um, that's a super fucking important fact? Love that for her, but Christ alive nail. these. plot points. home.

idk I guess these two are nitpicks, but I have so many more and just don't feel like writing a novel expounding upon what I perceive as their many (MANY) failures in writing this show. But this show is just full of those moments and I don't understand their choices. Easter eggs only work when there's actually something semi coherent to hide them in (hence why most of M*rvel's fail nowadays, just saying). This feels almost as incoherent as Renegades, and I am SOOOOO very sorry to be actually saying that because woooooof that is not a compliment. Like... it's the Romulans, it's the androids, it's the Borg. It feels like whatever unholy combination is happening with Applebee's and iHop right now. Like... Okay I guess? But it's just a weird combination and very unnecessary. Just fucking pick one and go from there.

I do however need like a lot more ex-Borg bonding that was such a good moment okay thanks bye

[the-kipsabian]

..i have a plot for the soulmates as horror fic finally

the problem is i also have two other longer projects going on at the moment along a few others that ive already started ages ago so its like. i really shouldnt start another multichapter thing

but god im just so happy to have a plot

[ackermental]

Honestly, Hollywood should be grateful that China has cenzorship fucking their shows up, because otherwise they would take over the market, just like manga did with comics.

[tahbhie]

How many drafts should you go through before deciding your novel is ready?

There's no specific (official) number, but to create a foundation that ensures you don't burn out quickly, overwork yourself, and get tired of your work, I'll say four. It's the same number I use for my students since most of them have other engagements outside writing that take up a copious amount of their time.

1. Initial or Zero Draft:

This draft is also called the 'just write' draft. Focus on putting that idea down. As the creative juices flow, let it all out. Don't worry about perfection or coherence; the goal is to capture your raw ideas and get the story out of your head and onto the page.

2. Second Draft:

This is the plot draft. Read through what you have written to see if every detail you added was meant to be. Here, you focus on the structure of your story. Ensure that the plot makes sense, the pacing is right, and there are no major plot holes. This is where you might add, remove, or rearrange scenes to improve the overall flow of the narrative.

3. Third Draft:

Character development draft. In this stage, you look deeper into your characters. Make sure their motivations, backgrounds, and arcs are well-defined and consistent. Flesh out their personalities and relationships, ensuring they are compelling and believable. This is also a good time to refine dialogue and make sure it sounds natural and true to each character. That's for this drafting stage.

4. Fourth Draft:

Grammar and punctuation draft. This is the polishing stage. Focus on correcting grammatical errors, punctuation, and spelling mistakes. Pay attention to sentence structure, word choice, and overall readability. This draft is about making your manuscript as clean and professional as possible.

Keep in mind that the goal is to define what completion means for each draft. Once you reach the goal, take a break and return to it for the next drafting stage.

Some writers pay people to carry out some of the drafting stages for them, so if you fall into that category, you might have fewer drafting stages to handle yourself!

Reblog to save for later 😉

Thank you all for the support 💜!

[roturo]

₊˚ෆ FALSE GOD

warnings: masturbation, sex, smut, porn with no plot, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, use of toys, cunnilingus, mentions of low/high sex drive, dom/sub dynamics, shaming, humilliation, blue balls, edging, corruption kink, mentions of somnophilia, and twitter links. (Gojo, Geto & Nanami)

author's note: this is not a goodbye, but take it as a see you soon writing.

part 2 (coming soon if it’s well received)

gojo satoru

He's been annoying you the whole morning while trying to coach the kids on their training– slapping his hand away everytime it lowers down from your lower back and giving him a glaring look.

Both of you talked about this. Not letting his high sex drive come across work, and mostly in front of his students.He looked like a lost puppy, searching for attention and someone to relieve his needs.

“Gojo. Stop it–” You pushed his hand away from you, looking back to see if someone else noticed what’s going on. “But I can’t princess, I need you right now~” He whined in your ear, he was about to throw a tantrum if you continued neglecting him this way. It’s been two weeks without sex, can you believe it? Two weeks! He prefers fighting Mahito’s annoying ass again on his own rather than pass one day without inside you.

“It’s not the time right now– and I'm not in the mood either.”

Okay. First of all he knew you weren’t too into sex, and he accepted it! He respected your boundaries, and he didn’t only want you for the sex, he loved you for who you are! But the way you said his last name instead of his first name, and looking like you were about to slap him turned him on even more.

He wouldn’t stop whining and throwing tantrums for your touch, opting for dismissing the class early so they could go to sleep or wherever, it’s weekend anyways. 

Both of you sat in silence in his office. Waiting for someone to break the tense silence thanks to him— and he was about to do it, but the moment your mouth opened his mind got in control of your sweet voice.

“Get up and take your pants off. Briefs too-” His eyes light up like a kid when receiving a lollipop for behaving like a good boy he is. He took off his shirt too, feeling like it was drowning him and taking the air out of him because this was the first time you were really taking control over all this.

“Sit.” He did as you said, his cock proudly standing tall and full of cum to dump wherever you wanted him too. But he wasn’t too lucky this time, because the moment you stepped closer to him and his desk, searching for one of his blindfolds he usually leaves there– you kneeled down infront of his, massaging his hard balls that made him moan out loud– taking them in one hand, they were heavy. His blindfold was around them, in a knot– tighten them. 

The moment you started jerking off he knew he wouldn’t come as easy as he would. It was wet, really wet– and all thanks to his pre-cum leaving his cock, he was begging for release, he couldn’t come, literally and physically. It was impeding him from cumming, it felt ten times worse than not having your touch– He had it now, but at what cost?

“Aw, look at those blue balls!” You laughed in front of him and slightly slapped the red swollen head of his cock– he was crying, he never did. But it felt so good but it hurt so much at the same time.  You took off the blindfold, cum coming out like a big wave, wetting his abdomen, part of his chest and your neck too. His moan almost sounded like a scream, cries and nervous laughs coming out of him– He came but you continued jerking him off, this time overstimulating him instead of edging him– He doesn’t know what was worse. Coherent words were long lost, babbling out trying to stop himself but he couldn’t move himself, way too lost in the pleasure to be able to stop you.

“Let’s see if you can atleast last a week without acting like a fucking horny virgin bitch this time mhm?, let’s make you cum again just to make sure, yeah?”

geto suguru

Geto is a morning wood guy. And he knows you have a low libido, actually Suguru is the only one you’ve sex with. 

“I’m scared of dicks ´guru” You whispered, kneeled down in front of him, you were at his dorm, it was 11 P.M and you decided to lose your virginity to Geto assuring he’s the one and you’ve never felt safe in someone else’s arms– he chuckled and looked at you with loving eyes– one of his hands caressed your cheek, “How are you going to be afraid of dicks and want to suck me off at the same time princess? Mhm?”

He laughed at himself at the memory, now you were 6 years together and he’s eager to know how your life is going to be with him, having a wedding, getting a house together, making you pregnant… full of him, shit. This is not helping with the main problem right now.

He’s a decent man. At least that’s what he thinks about himself– he’s not horny all the time like Satoru. Maybe that’s his form of love language? Satoru is a weird ass anyways– he thinks to himself while scrunching his eyebrows together, –stop thinking about him Suguru!, it’s going to make you puke instead of helping the problem… He was looking at the ceiling of your room while you’re sleeping right beside him. He doesn’t want to wake you up, you deserve to have a nice and comfortable sleep.

But the pain down there is not going anywhere, not even with a cold shower. He knows to identify his morning woods– living with them for his whole life, I guess. Unconsciously one of his hands is now touching himself through his boxers making him moan, his free hand quickly covering his mouth and looking to his side to find you still sleeping.   

He swears he’s about to slap himself to stop this and suck it up, but he feels your hand stopping him. “Are you okay baby?, I heard something and I thought you hurt yourself or something.”

Oh my god… How could you be so… pure? So perfect for him, always making sure he’s okay, your sleepy voice sounding deeper than your normal voice… His shirt is way too big for you that he swears if he moves his head a little higher he could see your nipples. Shit Suguru, you turned it sexual again!

Should he just… ask you? beg you? beg and cry for some release? Would he sound as horny as a teenager? This problem should be for teenagers! Not for a grown ass man like him!

“Um… I might just had a little problem down there”

“Might? Little?”

His flushed face was cute, his body was fully uncovered by the blankets, leaving him with his chest exposed and a clear wet patch on his boxers.

“C’mon baby, let me help you” He called out your name, trying to stop you the moment you placed your hand on the elastic of his underwear— in one swift motion you freed his cock, catching a glance of how swollen it was due the negligence of the past weeks. 

The moment Suguru felt the cold breeze on him, he came.

He fucking came with no touch.

Damn embarrassing.

“Aw, cute. Want me to suck you off?”

nanami kento

You haven’t rushed things with Nanami yet. Both of you were such a cute couple that made people gag. 

He’s amazing, not like any other boys you have met before, he treated you nice, spoiled you and mostly respected you– in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman. 

He’s such a hard working guy, such an inspiration, so committed to both of his works that you tell him if you ever get married you’ll be the best housewife he could ever have because he deserves it.

But one thing about Nanami is that he keeps things to himself. Just like the boner he has right now by imagining you being his little housewife. He really needs to leave this office right now and relieve some… stress.

The last weeks have been hard for him, naturally affecting your relationship with him. He was always tired, even more earnest and quiet. You know he’s bad at telling what he feels, and he’s always stressed by something– but you have never seen him like this. Like ever.

When he tries to distress himself he just keeps failing over and over again, not being enough and having to suck it up and continue his day with a hard poking erection most likely visible in his pants. That’s why he remains seated most of the time.

But one day he went to your house after work. It was impossible to not notice his erection even when he’s trying to hide with his briefcase or on the sofa. 

“Take your pants off Kento.” You’re not a big fan of sex, Nanami knows that, he hasn’t even had sex with you before! So this caught him by surprise, the red on his cheeks spanding through his neck.

“E-excuse me? I’m sorry, what honey?” 

“You heard me, take your pants off.” He’s seated on your sofa– unloosened tie, two or three bottoms of his shirt undone, messy hair, in his socks but that damn thing was literally capable of breaking his pants if it didn’t have some release.

He slowly started unbuckling his pants, losing his mental battle and accepting what he needed, and if you were willing to do it, all he could do is take it– but dear god, it was even worse.

All you would do is touch him. Through his briefs. Just the feeling of your fingers through them. Touching the tip was the worst part.

And he couldn’t believe that the most simple touch is capable of making him cum with just your fingers than him raming and jerking off the hardest he has ever tried.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Since you've mentioned Scarlet Lady in one of your posts, what's your opinion on it?

I've mentioned before that I'm a big Scarlet Lady fan, which is the only reason that I'm comfortable answering asks like this one. I don't publicly criticize the content of hobby creators. That's wildly inappropriate! Punch up, not down.

The linked post was a general discussion of the adaptation process and how @zoe-oneesama did a fantastic job, so for this one, I'm just going to do some general gushing because I do actually like praising and enjoying things!

Scarlet Lady's chosen format (comic) allows it to have this wonderful conversation with canon where it can rely on the framework of canon to tell it's own story while also using canon for jokes and meta commentary. This means that Scarlet Lady is about as close as fan content can get to a direct reboot because it's able to have moments like this one from the comic's first post:

[Image description: Adrien standing in his room after transforming into Chat Noir for the first time. He is beaming and his eyes are shining with excitement as he exclaims, "This is gonna be awesome!"]

A single picture that communicates everything we need to know about Adrien getting his miraculous. When I've done this same thing in fanfic, I had to write out the full scene because that's how novels work. You have to give the full picture. With a comic, you can just quickly acknowledge this thing that we all already know and then move on to the new stuff. A picture really is worth a thousand words! (Or, in my case, more like two thousand...)

This allows Zoe to keep the same akumas that we get in canon without her story feeling like a boring rehash because she can focus on what's different in her version. A novelization of the same content would have to show both the stuff that stays the same and the stuff that changes for it to be coherent. That's a lot less fun to read and write. It's why I basically never revisit canon akumas in my own stuff. It's just too derivative for the written word.

This is one of the big reasons that I loved Scarlet Lady. Because it was able to have that more directly conversation with canon, it was able to take canon and say, "hey, why don't we embrace the tone that you established in season one and retell the story with that vibe?" That's something that I desperately wanted to see, but that is totally unsuited to my chosen artistic form. It couldn't be a novel. It had to be a comic.

If you want to know what a true formula show version of Miraculous would look like, Scarlet Lady is it. It does everything that Miraculous should have done:

Sticks to a lighthearted tone where nothing is ever super serious

Keeps Gabriel entirely unsympathetic

Has slow character development and background hints at a bigger plot as the only serial elements, allowing the individual episodes to be their own story while never feeling incomplete or rushed

Allows characters other than Marinette to shine while keeping Marinette as the clear main character

Makes Adrien narratively important

MAKES THE LOVE SQUARE CUTE SO I CAN ACTUALLY SHIP IT

Understands that Lila and Chloe can't coexist as antagonists

Reverses the love square, which is the best way to tell their story. Yes, I will die on my "love diamond" hill. It's a good hill. Come join me. I'll bring cookies.

I could keep going, but you hopefully get my point. While Scarlet Lady is certainly not the only way to do a formula version of canon, it's proof that a formula version does work! You don't have to go the serious route for Miraculous to be successful.

I want to take some time to gush about the ending, but I don't want to spoil it, so I'll put that gushing under a "read more" in case anyone hasn't seen it. I'll finish out this less spoilerish section with this:

I feel like some people are surprised when they learn that I love Scarlet Lady because - as some of you have probably picked up - it is quite different from my ideal version of canon. I'm not sure why that would stop me from enjoying a thing, though. It's important to remember that our personal ideals are not the only way to tell a good story. There are lots of ways to take what canon gave us and make something wonderful! It's part of the reason that I enjoy being in a fandom.

If I only wanted to see my ideal take on canon, then I'd stick to writing/imagining my own stories. But I don't want that! I like seeing alternate takes, too. Scarlet Lady is one of my personal favorites. It's completely different from anything that I'd ever think to write and that's why I'm so glad that it exists! I like being entertained just as much as I like creating my own entertainment and I don't want to only read stories that look like something I'd write. That's boring!

Spoilers below:

I've mentioned before that there are many, many ways to properly handle Chloe's character and Zoe did such a good job with her take on that! Chloe isn't absolved of all the things she did wrong, but she's also treated as a young woman with the ability to change.

While the comic bares the name of Chloe's alter ego, she was the never the main character. She never went on a journey. The story kept her to her shallow season-one self: a petty brat who just wanted attention. It did this because that's who Chloe was in canon and who Chloe needed to be for the comic to work.

The first time we see any complexity from Chloe is in the comic's final few episodes, which was absolutely the right call for Zoe to make! In a recent post, I talked about how the end of a formula show is the only time when you can break the formula in catastrophic ways and that's what Zoe did. She kept Chloe static until it was time to end the story and that's when the formula breaks. That's when Chloe gets depth because, once she has depth, the formula doesn't work.

That depth is not used to redeem Chloe, but to show us that there's hope for Chloe. That this petty brat who we've been dealing with has some serious issues and needs help. Help that she's going to get far away from the people that she's hurt because her issues aren't an excuse for what she's done. They don't erase the harm that she caused. At the same time, understanding her issues makes us hope that she can be better now and Scarlet Lady took a moment to give us that hope. To show us the START of Chloe's true story.

That is the kind of ending that I have wanted to see in so many properties!!! It was so wonderful to finally get one that did this right. A story that understood that full redemption to the team and damnation to death/suffering are extremes on a scale of possibilities. You don't have to go to extremes! You can fall in the middle and the middle is a perfect, natural place for Chloe to land in this kind of story. Fully redeeming or even fully damning Chloe simply doesn't work in lighthearted formula content. It's too big a lift as canon has already demonstrated.

I also loved Zoe's take on Emilie. I've mentioned that I don't like evil Emilie in part because it makes her revival feel like the start of a new story. She's back and she'd bad, so we have to take her down now! But I don't want that. I want the story to end when Gabriel is stopped. Zoe does this by giving us an Emilie that is another perfect middle ground. She matches canon's uncomfortable implications without feeling like a true villain who is a threat to society.

[maximumzombiecreator]

While it's far from the worst cultural shift in TTRPGs, it really is a shame how much the mainstream standard for prewritten adventures has shifted from short adventure modules to massive hardcover campaigns.

Short modules are just so much better for the types of adventures that most mainstream TTRPGs are good at: you arrive at a place, it's Weird, you meet some cool people, it turns out there's a fucked up little situation going on, you get involved and blow up the situation in whatever way best suits your characters, and then The Adventure Continues. Depending on what happened in the adventure, the GM might decide to bring elements of it back in the future: NPCs you vibed with (or hated), places that you made a connection with, elements of the situation you left unresolved, whatever. Or not! No pressure, because the next adventure is going to be a new weird place with a new fucked up little situation.

Long campaigns, by contrast, constantly need to constrain the players so that they can keep the campaign relatively coherent. Even the ones that work hard not to railroad the players have to limit their ability to impact things so that the players don't somehow avert chapter 10 by doing something way back in chapter 3. And often, this results in very weak connective tissue throughout the adventure, with the character mainly doing what they are told by NPCs who are the ones with the real stake in things. After all, how can the PCs be the main characters when the adventure must be written with no idea of who they are?

And then this in turn feeds this culture where, actually, the Good GM homebrews their own campaign. That way they can actually center the PCs, and not railroad them, and throw out everything they prepped when the PCs refuse to engage with plot hooks and do completely unrelated stuff, because that is the opposite of running the big boxed adventure.

But actually, incorporating the creativity of other writers into your game is great. You can get so much mileage from taking someone else's fucked up little situation and tweaking one or two things to put it in your campaign. You can center the PCs so much when you don't need to protect future story arcs, you can just throw them in the mix and let them do main character shit. It's great.

Most importantly, though, I think more people should be able to have the brain chemistry-altering experience of not knowing what you're going to run next week, and being in the local game shop browsing shelves of dozens of fucked up little situations with some Brom-ass art on the covers and mostly terrible writing peppered with ideas that will stay in your brain forever.

[dreamauri]

you've done sub!oscar how about gentledom! oscar , pretty pleaseeeeeee

♪ — 𝗣𝗔𝗖𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader ( smut ) fic summary . . . soft dom oscar, no plot, just that (580 words)

( my master list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

CONTENT WARNING — ( +18 MDNI, pnv, overstim, soft do oscar, sub reader, top/dom reader, riding )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts with his voice. Low and unhurried, like he knows time bends for him. For you. Like he’s not in a rush to get anywhere because he already has you exactly where he wants you — breath shallow, skin buzzing, hips twitching with want.

“Don’t move,” Oscar says, voice a velvet leash, and you freeze mid-shiver on the sheets.

There’s nothing hard in his tone, but the command sinks into your spine anyway, soft and final. You’re spread out on his bed, underwear long gone, one of his hands wrapped around your ankle, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin like you’re some kind of masterpiece he’s in no rush to finish.

“Let me take my time with you.” You nod. You swallow. You try not to squirm. He notices — of course he does. That little twitch of your thighs? The stutter in your breath? Oscar sees it all.

“You’re so impatient.” His mouth is at your knee now, ghosting kisses higher, trailing fire. “Always so loud about what you want.”

His lips brush the inside of your thigh, and your hands fist in the sheets. You feel a low laugh in his throat, more than you hear it. He’s enjoying this. Enjoying you.

“Breathe, darling,” he murmurs, and it’s so condescendingly sweet you almost moan. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You nod again, faster this time, a whine caught in the back of your throat. But he’s not satisfied. “I said, say it.”

You meet his eyes — warm brown, dark with something unreadable. But not cruel. Never cruel. Just in control.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper, and his smirk softens into something fonder, more dangerous. His hands — one on your ankle, the other trailing up to your waist — squeeze just enough to make your breath catch.

“That’s my girl.”

You’re already a mess under his fingertips, and he hasn’t even really touched you yet. Just kissed, just held, just looked. And it’s the way he looks at you that kills you. Like you’re breakable. Like you’re holy. Like every breath you take is a prayer he’s going to answer with his mouth.

And he does. When he finally leans in — slow, torturous — and kisses between your thighs, he holds you steady like you might fly apart otherwise. And maybe you would. His tongue moves with precision, not too fast, not too slow, just enough to make you arch into his mouth and forget every coherent thought you’ve ever had.

But every time your hips buck too high, he pulls back. “I said pace yourself, baby.”

And it’s not cruel — it’s careful. It’s him taking you apart like a song he wants to memorize, over and over. He holds you down not to restrict, but to guide. To teach. That pleasure is better like this. That letting him lead will feel better than chasing it alone.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he breathes, hot against your skin. “So sweet. So perfect like this.”

And when he finally lets you come — lets you — it’s not just release. It’s surrender. It’s falling apart in his hands, knowing he’ll catch every broken piece and kiss it back together.

He kisses your stomach after. Your hip. Your knee. Works his way back up until he’s pressed over you again, skin to skin, lips brushing your jaw.

“See?” he whispers, a little smug, a little reverent. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

And you believe him. God, do you believe him.

voice notes . . . ( in honour of his birthday ladies and gentlemen, I made oscar a dom. it was so weird writing this because he's such a sub or vanilla kind of guy in my opinion )

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #13 死

† the wound that always bleeds †

"Like a mathematical equation, turns out sleeping next to a warm body has always been the solution, which to Jungkook is ironic. Just how ironic it is to Taehyung, that Jeon keeps pretending he's above everything and everyone."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6,5k

rating: mature

content: walk of shame (not), sharing secrets, best friend gossip, 8 hours of sleep for jeon (yay), v's sadistic streak shining through, v being a psychotic lil' shit, takama stepping in to save the day, v ruining lives for the fun of it and jimin being too soft for his own good (why do i always do this shit to jimin bro)

☠ author's note ☠

First of all, Kiki Nation on Tumblr is FUCKING UNHINGED. The goal was 200 notes and it took y'all less than 24 hours. I'm flabbergasted. But also it was smut so... understandable. I see you, horny little gremlins. I respect your dedication.

So here's chapter 13! (I had to proofread this while revising tax law so if something doesn't make sense, it's your fault somehow. Don't question my logic.)

AHHHHH I finally got to show off V's more psychotic nature! His little sadistic side coming out to play! He's such a little shit I love him. Writing characters with mental instability is my emotional support activity.

Well well well, things are slowly unveiling, huh? So what the fuck happened?! Who is Sylvia?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!

That's for me to know and you to lose sleep over for now (◕‿◕✿)

You know, sometimes I genuinely forget you don't have access to the absolute chaos that is my brain. Like it's genuinely hard for me to understand this from an outside perspective because I have the whole plot mapped out in excruciating detail, but you're still in the dark and it's like—is it too obvious? Is it too vague? AM I BEING COHERENT?

The eternal struggle of writing mysteries when you already know the answer. It's like trying to play poker while everyone can see your cards except you think they can't but maybe they can a little bit?? This is why I don't sleep.

Anyway, that's it for now! Love you all, you enablers of my questionable coping mechanisms! (ง •̀_•́)ง

EDIT: If you haven’t read the prologue… you must. Otherwise this is going to be hard to understand bahahaha.

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The alarm rips through your dreams like a knife, and god—you've never hated a sound more in your life.

Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead, your body heavy with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from... well. Last night's activities.

The blankets are so warm, and you smell like pine and sex and masculine. Just five more minutes...

Then reality bitch-slaps you awake. You're in Jeon's tent. At dawn. Which is exactly where you're not supposed to be.

His leg is thrown over yours, arm draped across your waist like he's trying to keep you there. It's almost... cute?

No, not cute. Definitely not cute. Just annoying. And inconvenient.

You nudge him with your elbow, trying to wiggle free without fully waking him. The grunt he makes is surprisingly soft.

"Stay still..." His voice is rough with sleep, half-muffled against your shoulder. "Just five more minutes. Let me doze off again before you go."

You huff but stop moving. It's just five minutes, right? Not like anyone's awake yet anyway. And he's so warm, his breath steady against your skin.

It's... nice. In a way that's probably dangerous.

His breathing evens out quickly, dropping back into sleep. The mighty Chief Jeon, passed out and cuddling. If you weren't so tired, you'd probably laugh.

When you finally ease out from under him, his body twitches slightly—this tiny, unconscious movement that's so unexpectedly human.

It's so weird seeing him like this, soft and sleep-warm skin. Almost makes you forget he's the gang's deadliest assassin.

Or one of them, if you consider V.

Better not tell Jeon you thought that, anyway.

You wiggle back into your clothes as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him—leggings, panties, bra, that stupid crewneck that started all this. No need to give the rest of the camp a morning show.

You crawl out of his tent like the trained seductress you are—silent and graceful. Well, as graceful as anyone can be at ass o'clock in the morning.

The camp is dead quiet except for the occasional snore from distant tents.

Your heart doesn't stop hammering until you're safely away from his tent. The morning air hits your skin, fresh and sharp, washing away the lingering scent of pine and sex.

With each step, you build up that sense of normalcy that someone who didn't fuck a chief last night should wear. No walk of shame here—just a perfectly normal morning stroll. Nothing to see.

The portable table catches your eye as you pass—someone's left out water bottles and snacks like offerings to the gods of late-night hookups. You grab a bottle, the plastic cool against your palm. The water helps, but it doesn't quite wash away the taste of him.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.

You take another sip of water, trying to convince yourself you're totally fine with how things went down.

(You're not.)

Because seriously—what kind of assassin doesn't carry protection? The absolute audacity of Jeon, walking around looking like that, with those hands and that mouth and those fucking bedroom eyes, and not being prepared?

Criminal. Actually criminal.

Not that you're thinking about his hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd worked you up so perfectly, taking you apart piece by piece until you were shaking.

You drain half the water bottle in one go, but it doesn't help. Your body's still humming with leftover want, still craving more than just grinding and kisses.

Because fuck—it was good, but you know it could've been better. Could've had him filling you up, stretching you open, making you see stars...

If only he had brought condoms with him.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, slightly crushing bottle. The plastic crackles satisfyingly in your grip.

You can't even properly be mad at him. Not when he'd made sure you came first, not when he'd been so attentive to every little sound and movement.

But still.

The fact that you'd been this close to getting properly railed by Chief Jeon, only to be cockblocked by his own lack of preparation?

Infuriating.

Your core throbs at the memory of his cock pressed against you, at how big he'd felt even through layers of fabric. God, the things he could've done to you if he'd just—

Fucking stupid sniper. The audacity of leaving you wanting more.

And oh, there will be a next time. You're getting that dick properly, even if you have to staple condoms to his fucking forehead.

Because someone who looks like that and kisses like that and uses his hands like that? Yeah. You're not done with him yet.

"Good morning."

JM's soft voice yanks you out of your definitely-not-horny thoughts. He looks adorably rumpled, all oversized sweater and messy salmon hair. His cheeks are pink from the cold morning air, making him look even softer than usual.

"Morning," you manage, grateful that your voice sounds normal.

He takes a sip from his own water bottle and you mirror him, mostly to have something to do with your hands.

"Sleep well?" You ask because it's polite, and also because talking about sleep is way better than thinking about what you were doing instead of sleeping last night.

His smile is warm and genuine. "Yeah, I did. And you?"

"Yeah." You nod, aiming for casual.

Like you didn't spend half the night grinding against Chief fucking Jeon. Like you're not still feeling the ghost of his hands on your skin.

Just a normal morning chat. Nothing to see here.

You give JM a quick wave and head back to your tent, trying not to look suspicious. Like you didn't just spend the night getting railed—well, almost railed by his coworker.

God, that's weird to think about.

When you peek inside, Yunjin's already stirring, one eye cracked open in the dim light.

"Y/N?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Yeah, it's me." You whisper back, watching her untangle herself from Eunchae, who's apparently decided Yunjin makes an excellent teddy bear.

It's kind of adorable, actually.

She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. When she looks at you again, her brow furrows.

"You didn't sleep here?"

You open your mouth, ready to spill everything—about Jeon's hands and his mouth and how fucking good he'd been—but snap it shut. Not exactly tent-appropriate conversation.

"No."

Her eyes go wide, and she leans in close. "Did you sleep outside? In the freezing cold?"

"No, no, I didn't sleep—" You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware of all the sleeping bodies around you.

The tent walls might as well be tissue paper when it comes to privacy. A quick check outside confirms you're clear.

You duck back in, keeping your voice low. "We can't talk about this here."

You can see the exact moment sleep leaves Yunjin's eye, replaced by that familiar spark of gossip-hungry curiosity. Her lips curl into a grin that says she knows something juicy is coming.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 5." She's already reaching for her clothes, suddenly very awake.

You duck out of the tent to give her privacy, leaning against a nearby pine tree. The bark digs into your back through your clothes, but you welcome the discomfort. Keeps you from getting lost in memories of other things that were digging into you last night...

Nope. Not thinking about Jeon's hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd—

Fuck.

When Yunjin finally emerges, her pink hair is a mess and she's practically vibrating with curiosity. You tilt your head toward the edge of camp, where the trees grow thicker. Perfect for spilling secrets that definitely shouldn't reach certain ears.

You find a fallen log away from the other tents, tucked between snow-dusted pines. The wood is freezing through your pants, but whatever. Some things are worth a cold ass.

Yunjin plops down next to you, already leaning in close. She smells like campfire smoke and cotton candy.

"So, what's going on? You look like you've been through hell and back."

More like heaven and back, but you're not about to say that out loud.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything makes your pulse skip.

"Jeon happened."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her forehead. "As in, Mr. I'll-Kill-You-With-My-Thumb Jeon? That Jeon? What the hell did he do now?"

There's teasing in her voice but you catch the flash of concern in her eye.

Sweet, but unnecessary.

"He didn't do anything... wrong." God, your face is burning. "We were alone and things got... intense."

"Intense how?" She draws out the words, scoffing. "Did you two fight each other to death—?"

"It's not like that." You cut her off before she can get carried away. "I mean, we did fight at first but then—well—"

You gesture vaguely, like that explains everything.

"We didn't plan it. It just... happened."

"What happened?"

She crosses her arms, looking supremely unconvinced. Then, presses her lips together, biting back a smile.

"So what, you got stuck and stepbro came to your rescue—"

"Yunjin!" You slap a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Your skin's still tingling with phantom touches and she's out here making porn references? You drop your hand with a scowl that's only half-serious.

Looking anywhere but at her knowing grin, you mutter, "it was mutual."

The words come out barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might summon him. Or worse—his ego.

Yunjin's smirk turns absolutely feral. "Oh my god, I knew there was something brewing between you two since the croissant thing. Come on, spill the dirty details."

You laugh, but your neck's getting hot just thinking about it. Leaning closer, you drop your voice even lower.

"Well, one minute we were fighting, and the next..."

You tell her about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd taken you apart piece by piece. How every touch had felt like lightning under your skin.

"He's like a fucking storm," you try to explain, but words feel inadequate.

How do you describe the tempest that is Jeon?

"And?" She's practically bouncing now, pink hair falling in her face as she leans in.

"And it was... intense. Like our bodies just clicked, you know? The way he touched me, the way he moved..."

"Holy shit." Yunjin lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like Chief Murder-Eyes knows how to fuck. I'm almost jealous."

You can't help but laugh, relief flooding through you at finally being able to talk about it. "I mean, we didn't actually—you know. No condoms. But still, with everything going on... with the gang and the rules..."

"Well, it's just fucking, right?" She cuts in, voice matter-of-fact. "You didn't break any rules."

Her words hit different, reassuring—exactly what you'd said to Jeon last night.

Right. No strings attached. Just two people scratching an itch.

"Yeah." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Just some good ol' fucking."

Yunjin's laugh is warm, understanding. "Well then, there's nothing to worry about. Just be careful. Jeon's not just any guy. From what I've heard, he's got layers, and not all of them are pretty."

You snort, rolling your eyes.

"Pffft, I know." You lean back. "I only have eyes for the pretty. And his dick."

That sets you both off cackling like teenagers sharing secrets behind the bleachers. It feels good to laugh about it, to make light of something that could've been way more complicated.

Yunjin stands, brushing pine needles off her pants. "Well, I gotta head back before they start sending out search parties for us. But we'll talk more about this later, yeah?"

"Yeah, later."

You're grateful she's not making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Just two adults having some mind-blowing- well, almost mind-blowing sex. No feelings, no drama.

She punches your shoulder playfully before heading back to camp, leaving you alone with memories of callouses on your skin and that fucking lip ring against your mouth.

Not that you're thinking about round two.

The early morning light bleeds through the tent, and for the first time—his eyes are not open to perceive it.

Jungkook stirs slowly, consciousness creeping in like the dawn. His hand reaches out, seeking the familiar cold touch of his phone screen.

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Eight fucking hours without a single nightmare clawing at his mind. No cold sweats, no jolting awake with a scream lodged in his throat.

Just... peace.

His eyes drift to the empty space beside him, still holding a ghost of warmth where you had been. The indent in his pillow, the lingering scent of chai tea mixed with his pine—evidence that last night wasn't just a fevered dream.

Interesting.

The tactician in him can't help but analyze this development.

Eight hours of proper sleep, achieved simply by having another body next to his. The data suggests a correlation worth exploring. It's purely scientific interest, of course —nothing to do with how your quiet breathing had somehow matched his own, creating a rhythm that had lulled him into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile.

Who would have thought that the solution to his insomnia would be so... straightforward?

Just add another warm body to the equation.

Simple.

Efficient.

The gang's best sniper, finally getting proper rest because of a quick hookup.

There's probably irony in there somewhere.

Jungkook stretches, feeling unusually light. His muscles are loose, relaxed in a way that has nothing to do with the previous night's activities.

Well, not entirely due to them.

Eight hours.

He could get used to this.

Jungkook sits up, letting the cool morning air hit his skin. Eight hours of actual sleep has him feeling... different. Not better, exactly. Just less like death warmed over.

He takes his time straightening his tent—a habit drilled into him and not voluntarily.

When he makes it outside, the camp is quiet except for the occasional bird call. His hands find his pockets as he heads toward the mess area, following the siren call of caffeine. The neat row of coffee cans almost makes up for sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

But then he sees V.

And just like that, his rare good mood evaporates.

Evaporates fast.

Jungkook's tongue clicks—automatic. His body already tightens before his mind even catches up. For a second, he considers turning back, caffeine be damned. But no. That'd hand the bastard a win, and Jeon doesn't hand out victories before breakfast.

V's lounging like he owns the clearing. Hair a tousled mess, skin flushed from either a fight or a fuck—Jeon doesn't care which. He just notes the details, stores them. It's habit. Just another target to assess.

The bastard tracks his approach with lazy, half-lidded eyes and that signature smirk—like he already knows he's about to ruin something.

Jungkook grabs a can off the table. Doesn't even look at V yet.

"Had fun last night?" The words come out dry, flat. No bite. Just noise.

V lifts his chin, amused. "Some of us don't need to buy intimacy with imported espresso machines."

Jungkook opens the can with a sharp hiss. Keeps his eyes on the label. "Didn't realize desperation was charming now."

"I call it efficiency." V stretches his arms overhead, exposing fresh marks on his throat. "In and out. Simple. No cleanup. You should try it—might loosen that iron rod you've got jammed up your spine."

Jungkook takes a slow sip of bitter coffee and finally looks at him. "You're bleeding self-worth all over the ground. Try wiping it up before someone slips."

V laughs, delighted. "There he is. I was starting to worry you'd gone full ghost. Thought maybe you finally snapped and joined the meditation club upstairs."

Jungkook doesn't answer. He's already turning away, walking slowly toward the edge of camp—toward the trees. Not far. Just enough distance to mute V's noise.

Of course, V follows. He always does.

"You know what your real problem is?" V's voice floats lazily behind him. "You think control's the same thing as peace."

Jungkook says nothing. Another sip. The coffee's still shit. V's steps crunch through the grass behind him. Closer now.

"But it's not. You're not calm, Jeon. You're just buried."

Jungkook stops. Just briefly. Looks up at the sky like it might offer patience.

V grins, eyes glittering. "Bet it gets lonely. All that quiet. All that nobility. Ever wonder why no one's lining up to warm your bed these days?"

Jungkook doesn't flinch. Just watches a bird take off from the trees. "Didn't realize we were counting bodies now. Thought you preferred keeping score in blood."

"Oh, I do," V murmurs, stepping beside him, too close. "But you—God, you used to have heat, you know that? Used to burn. Now it's all smoke and mirrors. All that rage shoved behind protocol and detachment."

Jungkook doesn't look at him, but his hand tightens around the can.

V keeps pushing, voice sweet as poison. "You used to laugh. Fuck, remember that? You'd stay up past curfew, cheat on drills, get into knife fights for fun. Now look at you—clockwork killer with a loyalty complex."

"You done?" Jungkook's voice is sharp now. Controlled, but edged.

"Not even close." V steps in front of him, cuts off the path. "See, I get it now. You stopped fucking because you can't do casual anymore. Too dangerous, right? Someone breathes near you and you start imagining futures."

Jungkook's jaw tightens.

V leans forward. "What was it RM said? 'Attachment makes you weak'? Or did you have to learn that one the hard way?"

"Careful," Jungkook says, low.

V just smiles. "I'm not touching your secrets, Jeon. Just pointing out the obvious. You're terrified of getting close again. You think if you fuck anyone, they'll catch feelings. Or worse—you will."

Jungkook doesn't blink. Doesn't speak. But the can in his hand dents slightly under his grip.

V notices. Of course he does.

"I mean, maybe that's why no one touches you anymore." He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. "Not because you're intimidating. Not because you're better. But because they all see it—the grief in your bones. The guilt. Like it might rub off."

"You talk a lot for someone with nothing to say."

V grins, stepping aside, letting him pass. "And you say nothing hoping it makes you mysterious. But guess what, Jeon? I see right through that bullshit."

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose. The air is cool, the trees just ahead. He keeps walking. He doesn't rise. Not yet.

But V's still behind him.

And he's not done.

Jungkook moves, calm steps through dew-soaked grass. The can in his hand hisses with pressure, dented from his grip, but he doesn't look back.

"You know what your problem is, Jeon?" V's voice cuts through the morning air, sing-song soft. "You're so far up your own ass you can't see what a joke you've become."

Jungkook doesn't bother with a glance. Just takes another sip of his shitty coffee. Tries to drown out the taste of chai from his tongue.

"The perfect soldier," V continues, pacing a few feet behind, voice louder now. "Marching in lockstep behind Commander like a good little ghost. You think if you bleed enough for RM, he'll forgive you for what you let slip through your fingers?"

Still no answer. Just another sip of that bitter, mass-produced garbage. Jungkook focuses on the taste—the chemical bitterness coating his tongue, sharp and synthetic. Easier to focus on that than the ache V's voice digs up.

"Nothing to say?" V's tone lifts, faux-curious. "Come on, where's that famous discipline now? Or did you leave it behind in your tent last night?"

The can pauses mid-sip. Barely a hitch. Just one second too long.

Jungkook lowers it slowly. "Your obsession with where I sleep is weird. Maybe try journaling."

V grins wide behind him, practically skipping to keep up now. "You're right. I should write this all down—'Jeon, once fierce and unfiltered, now drinks piss-coffee and pretends not to feel anything.' Bestseller."

"You done with the poetry?"

"Almost," V chirps. "Just wanted to make sure you knew everyone sees it. The way you're chasing scraps of forgiveness like a dog with its tail between its legs. You used to lead the escapades. Now you just brood and play pretend."

Jungkook stops walking.

V nearly collides with him, amused.

"Touch a nerve?" he murmurs.

Jungkook's head tilts slightly, eyes still forward. "You should work on new material. The old lines are starting to bore me."

V steps around him, circling like a vulture. "That's the thing about ghosts, Jeon. They're repetitive. They just haunt the same places. Same faces."

Jungkook's eyes shift. Cold. Level.

"You sound jealous."

V barks a laugh. It's short, sharp, too loud for the quiet trees.

"Of what? Your sad, monk-ass existence? Nah. I just miss the guy who could take a punch and throw three back."

"He grew up," Jungkook replies coolly. "Maybe you should try it."

"Nah," V says, too quickly. "That guy didn't grow up. He crawled into a cage and slammed the door shut."

Jungkook takes a step forward, chest brushing V's shoulder as he passes. "Or maybe he realized some things aren't worth fighting for anymore."

"Oh?" V pivots, stalking behind again. "Like loyalty? Brotherhood? Control?"

Jungkook doesn't turn. "Like noise."

V's smirk sharpens. "Funny you mention that. Because the silence after you let her die? That was deafening."

That stops him.

One step shy of the treeline.

Jungkook doesn't move, but something in the air shifts. Not loud. Not visible.

Just cold.

Real cold.

He sets the coffee can down on a mossy rock, slow and steady. Wipes his hand once on his thigh.

"You sure you want to go there?" he says, soft as snowfall.

V's smile flickers. Not with fear—he doesn't do fear—but with pleasure.

This is what he came for.

"I'm just saying," V hums, circling again, low and lazy. "You've been pretending for so long. Pretending she didn't matter. Pretending you're fine. Pretending you're not still clawing your way out of that night like it didn't gut you."

Jungkook says nothing.

But his silence means something now.

"I was there, Jeon," V says, inching closer. "You looked at me like I'd ripped out your heart and eaten it."

"You did," Jungkook murmurs. Still not looking at him.

"And yet," V's voice softens to a whisper, "you still didn't pull the trigger."

"Because you weren't worth it."

V snickers. "That's not what your eyes said."

Jungkook turns his head slowly. "No. That's what restraint looks like. Something you wouldn't recognize if it slit your throat."

V's lips curve, crooked and violent. "But you wanted to. You still want to."

Another long pause. Jungkook's jaw flexes once.

"Not as much as I want to forget you ever mattered."

And that—that hits.

V's grin falters. Just for a split second. The moment is small, but Jungkook catches it. He always catches everything.

Then, it changes again. V watches him like a cat watches a cornered bird. Head tilted. Smiling like he knows what's coming, and he's going to savor every second of it.

"You know what's funny," V says, voice maddeningly casual, "I always wondered if that was the problem."

Jungkook doesn't bite. Doesn't blink.

V goes on. "Not the rule-breaking. Not the secrecy. But who you broke the rule for."

Jungkook's gaze sharpens. Just a sliver. Just enough.

V catches it, of course. "Maybe if it had been someone else. Someone... less delicate. Maybe then, I'd have understood."

Jungkook's jaw shifts—tightens, releases.

"You picked soft," V continues. "You always hated soft. But that's what you chose. That's who you let in."

"Don't," Jungkook says quietly.

But V's already grinning, teeth and cruelty.

"God, what was her name again? It's been so long." He taps his chin mockingly. "Right there. Tip of my tongue."

Jungkook turns away. Starts walking.

He needs to get away from that sicko before he does something stupid.

"Don't go yet," V calls behind him, voice lilting like this is a game. "Help me out, will you? Dark hair? Big eyes? Always looked like she was about to break?"

Each step Jungkook takes feels heavier now. Like the gravity around him's been recalibrated.

"Jeon," V sings. "C'mon. Starts with an 'S,' right? S... Ssssss—shit, it's gonna bug me all day if you don't help."

Jungkook stops walking. Doesn't turn.

"V."

One word. Dead calm. A warning that sounds like the moment before a trigger snaps.

But V doesn't stop. He never does.

"Wait—don't tell me—Sarah? No. Sophie?" He's grinning now, wide and unhinged. "No no no, it was something sweeter than that, wasn't it? Something fragile."

Jungkook's whole body goes still. His shoulders square. Not aggressive. Not defensive.

Bracing.

"I won't tell you again."

"Oh, don't be like that." V's voice drops to a near-whisper. "We're just reminiscing."

"You say it," Jungkook murmurs, quiet enough that the wind almost eats it. "And this conversation takes a very different turn."

"Isn't that the fun part?" He replies.

Jungkook turns back to walk away. But before he can do just that, V opens his mouth again.

"No, wait, wait, wait! I remember it now."

V tilts his head, feigning thought, acting like he just got enlightened by the powers above.

Then—

"Sylvia."

The name detonates behind Jungkook's eyes.

He moves before he even registers it—before thought can catch up to instinct. One hand fisting V's collar, the other slamming him into the nearest tree with bone-rattling force.

His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

"I told you," he breathes, "to shut the fuck up."

V chokes out a laugh, even as Jeon's forearm presses against his throat. His smile is bloody, triumphant.

This is exactly what he wanted.

"There he is," V wheezes. "Knew you still remembered."

Jungkook tightens his grip.

"You don't get to tarnish her name with your mouth."

"Oh come on," V gasps, grin never faltering. "You're the one who made her matter."

Another inch and V's feet almost leave the ground. Jungkook's pulse is thunder in his ears. Vision tunneled, voice low.

"You don't touch her memory."

V's eyes shine with something unholy. "Why not? You left it out in the open."

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He just breathes—through his nose, slow, controlled—because if he doesn't, he'll crush the bastard's windpipe right here and now.

"You never even cried for her," V says, voice straining now. "Not once. I watched you. All that grief, and nothing came out but silence."

"Shut up."

"She begged for you, Jeon." V's voice slips into a mocking lilt. "Right before I pulled the trigger."

His hands go up, mimicking the movement of guns. Two fingers, cocked and pointed.

"Bang. Bang." V grins. "Guess some lessons need to be learned twice."

Jungkook's fist curls tight, shakes from the effort of not slamming it into V's face.

"She looked at you," V whispers, "and said thank you."

That's it.

Jungkook lets go of his throat—and punches him hard enough to split skin across V's jaw.

Bone cracks under knuckles. Blood spatters across bark. V staggers, but he's laughing—fucking laughing—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fucking finally" he slurs through red teeth. "Welcome back, Kooks."

Jungkook doesn't hesitate.

The second punch lands even harder than the first—knuckles slamming into cheekbone with enough force to whip V's head sideways.

Blood sprays from his mouth this time, a thick crimson arc that spatters across tree bark, across Jeon's hand, across the ground between them.

Still, V laughs.

It's breathless, giddy, delighted.

"Fuck, I missed this," he rasps, tongue darting out to taste the blood slicking his bottom lip. "So you're still human, huh?"

He licks it slow, like he's savoring it.

Like it's dessert.

Jungkook steps back just enough not to kill him.

"You don't get to call me that," he says, voice low and splintered. "Not anymore."

V blinks once, mock-innocent. Then that crooked smile curls back up, jagged and satisfied.

"Oh, right." He taps two fingers against his temple. "Because I'm not Taehyung to you anymore, huh? I'm V." His voice twists around the name like it's something sacred. "Your words, not mine. Or was it mine first? I forget."

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He can't.

Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, his vision swimming at the edges with a red haze he hasn't let himself feel in months.

V steps closer, shoulders relaxed, body loose with that particular high only someone like him can ride. His lip's still bleeding, and he doesn't wipe it off this time—just lets it drip, red on his teeth, staining the corner of his mouth.

"God, you hit harder than I remember," he says, eyes gleaming. "Must be all that repressed emotion. You're like a soda can in the sun—shaking, sealed tight. One little crack and boom."

Jungkook doesn't say anything back. He's not looking at him anymore. He's looking through him. Past the trees. Somewhere far and unreachable.

But V keeps talking. Of course he does. Because once he has momentum, he's unstoppable.

"I always knew it was still in there," V's finger digs in his chest. "That spark. That fire. You've been playing dead so long I almost believed you were gone. Almost."

Jungkook's hands are fists again.

"You've been sleepwalking, Jeon," V continues, grinning like he's high on the taste of violence. "Dead-eyed. Robotic. Miserable. Just waiting for someone to fucking jolt you back awake."

He leans in close again. Too close.

"I'm just giving you a favor."

"You don't do favors."

V cackles, loud and wild. "Sure I do. You just don't like the way they taste."

Another pause. Jungkook's breathing is steady now, but it's forced. Every inhale pulled through clenched teeth.

"You think this brings me peace?"

"No," V says, licking blood off his thumb now. "I think it brings you clarity."

There's something predatory in the way he steps back, finally, giving Jungkook space—but not out of mercy, no.

It's rather just to admire the way he's held together by muscle memory and sheer willpower.

"You pretend you buried it," V says softly, quirking an eyebrow. "But it's still there. Under the skin. Under the guilt. Under all that self-hatred."

"You're wasting your breath," Jungkook replies.

But V just keeps smiling, lips slick, eyes blown wide with delight.

"You can't kill the part of you that liked it. The rage. The power. The need. You just locked it away in a box and lost the key."

V's voice drops now, low and rich and terrifyingly gentle.

"And I'm the only one who still knows where it's buried."

That's when Takama steps in.

No warning. No sound. Just a hand locking around Jeon's bicep before the next blow can fly.

"Enough," Takama says, firm and calm.

Not a command.

A lifeline.

Jungkook doesn't resist. Not yet. But his chest heaves, and the knuckles on his right hand are starting to swell. V leans lazily against the tree now, licking the blood of his lower lip that won't stop gushing out.

"Aw, don't stop now," he drawls, voice hoarse from the chokehold and the punches. "We were finally getting somewhere."

Takama doesn't even look at him.

His grip stays tight. Not painful. Just steady. Anchoring.

"Let it go," his second in command says under his breath.

Jungkook's eyes stay locked on V's face. Not with hatred. With control.

The kind that takes every ounce of strength to maintain.

"You should've stayed buried," he murmurs.

But V just laughs. Loud, unhinged, manic.

"And miss this reunion?" He wipes blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. "Never."

He steps back, licking the burgundy remnants from his fingers as he turns to walk away.

His voice floats over his shoulder like a final cut.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He just watches him disappear into the trees, that thorned scent of roses lingering behind like a stain you can't scrub off.

Some poisons don't kill you right away.

They stay in your blood.

Rot you from the inside out.

Blood tastes like copper and victory.

It slicks across his tongue, drips warm from the split in his lip. He doesn't wipe it off. Why would he? It's a mark of success—Jeon's control fractured, broken open just enough for the truth to spill out.

The scream he didn't let out. The grief he still pretends doesn't exist.

Taehyung practically skips through the camp, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass. His knuckles sting from where Jeon deflected that second hit, but the ache feels earned. Like something sacred.

He exhales, slow and sweet, watching the vapor curl into the cold morning air.

That was better than sex.

No, scratch that.

That was sex.

Pushing Jeon to that edge—watching the cold, calculated sniper fucking explode in real time? That's the closest Taehyung ever gets to euphoria.

The high is still rushing through him as his tent comes into view. The buzz behind his teeth. The heat in his skull. He's not even pretending to slow down.

He lifts the flap with a flourish, practically singing, "Honey, I'm home," as he sweeps inside.

Jimin's already there. Cross-legged on the floor like some kind of aesthetic devotional painting. His salmon hair falls messily across his forehead, catching light like spun sugar. He doesn't startle—he never does—but his head tilts just slightly in that way Taehyung always notices.

"You're late," Jimin says, not looking up from whatever he's scribbling into that little black journal. "Let me guess. You pissed off Jeon again."

"Mmhmm," Taehyung hums, swaying into the room. "It was glorious."

He doesn't wait for an invitation. He never does. Two steps and he's folding himself into Jimin's lap like a lithe, bloody jungle cat.

Jimin grunts at the impact, but he doesn't move. Doesn't push him off.

He never does that either.

"You're bleeding," Jimin says quietly, brushing hair back from Taehyung's temple before his eyes drift down. "Lip's split."

"Little love tap," Taehyung breathes against the curve of Jimin's neck.

He nuzzles there a moment, deep inhale. Jimin smells like warmth. Like brown sugar and caramel and fabric softener.

Soft things. Domestic things.

He doesn't know why it makes his teeth itch, want to take a bite.

Jimin finally meets his gaze—and there it is.

That flash of worry in his eyes. That's the part Taehyung likes. Not the sympathy. The fact that it costs Jimin something every time he pretends this isn't poison.

"What did you say to him this time?"

Taehyung grins slow, letting his tongue drag over the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Just reminded him of something he didn't want to remember."

"Don't play stupid. This is getting out of hand." Jimin's hand brushes lightly against his jaw, tilting his face to examine the cut.

The pads of his fingers are warm. Careful. It makes something behind Taehyung's ribs twitch.

"Jeon's going to snap one of these days," Jimin adds, voice low.

"He already did," Taehyung whispers.

And he can't help it—he giggles. It bubbles out of him like champagne and gunfire, bright and wrong. He presses closer to Jimin, legs tangling, arms looping around his waist. The tension bleeds out of him slowly, replaced by that delicious hum of control reclaimed. He can still feel Jeon's rage in the fibers of his hoodie. It clings like perfume.

Jimin doesn't move. But his breathing changes. Shallow now.

"You're high on it again," Jimin murmurs.

Taehyung pretends to consider it. "Maybe."

"It's not healthy."

He shrugs, lashes fluttering as he leans in. "Neither are we."

Jimin sighs through his nose. Doesn't argue.

For a moment, they sit like that. Quiet.

Taehyung lets himself rest his head on Jimin's shoulder, lets the silence expand between them. This kind of stillness is rare. He doesn't know how to hold it without squeezing too tight.

Jimin's voice finally cuts through. "Let J-Hope look at it. That lip's going to get infected."

"For you?" Taehyung draws his thumb along the line of Jimin's jaw, soft and mocking. "Anything, love."

The way Jimin flinches is small. Almost imperceptible. But Taehyung feels it.

That's the thing about Jimin. He's not like the others. He doesn't play back. Doesn't bite or snarl or shoot. He just absorbs it all, like a sponge in a slow leak.

And Taehyung knows it's cruel—knows he's twisting something tender into something sharp—but he does it anyway.

Because this is what's left. This is what he has.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Jimin says, eyes on the floor now. "With him."

"Sure I do," Taehyung murmurs, already curling into his lap again, like a cat that doesn't want to answer. "The show must go on."

Jimin shakes his head once, slow. "You're always like this."

"Good things don't change."

There's no bite in it. No anger.

Just truth.

And then, before Jimin can speak again, Taehyung presses a finger to his lips. It's light. Thoughtless. Charged.

"No more lectures," he says. "Tell me something sweeter."

"Like what?"

Taehyung smiles, eyes gleaming. He leans in, close enough for Jimin to taste the blood on his breath.

"Tell me a secret."

Jimin's lips are warm beneath his finger. Too warm.

Taehyung holds it there a beat longer than necessary, just to feel the resistance—such a pretty little line of defiance, always broken down the same way.

Gently.

Repeatedly.

"Tell me a secret," he whispers again.

Jimin doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because his eyes do. The way they drop. The way his breath skips. The way his hands twitch against the floor like they're unsure whether to push away or pull Taehyung closer.

It's always like this. Hesitation that tastes like anticipation.

Taehyung leans in. Presses his mouth to Jimin's cheek, just shy of his lips, and breathes him in—caramel warmth, a little bit of sweat, and something almost shy beneath it.

He imagines for a second biting down. Hard. Leaving a mark. Branding softness with something it doesn't deserve.

Instead, he draws back and tugs Jimin forward.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Right into his lap.

Jimin doesn't resist. He never does. Just settles into the space Taehyung makes for him like he's made of silk and apology.

God, it's addicting.

"So obedient," Taehyung murmurs, mouth ghosting along the curve of Jimin's jaw. "You always melt so easily, Jiminie."

He feels Jimin's pulse jump under his hands.

Feels it in the way his thighs tighten just slightly, in the way his spine curves—not in retreat, no.

In submission.

Taehyung smiles. The kind that never touches his eyes.

This is the part that matters.

Not the tenderness. Not the connection. This.

The aftershock. The reward.

The thing that lets him bleed out the rest of Jeon's name from his teeth.

His hands roam lazily—up the curve of Jimin's back, slipping under the hem of his shirt just to feel the skin heat beneath his palms. He doesn't rush. He doesn't need to.

Jimin's already folding.

Taehyung tilts his head and brushes their lips together—barely. Just enough to taste breath.

Then he whispers, soft and cruel against Jimin's mouth, "Let me ruin you for a bit."

Jimin exhales shakily. Doesn't nod. Doesn't speak. Just presses closer.

Perfect.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung finally feels calm.

Not better.

But calm.

The high burns slower this way.

Controlled.

Directed.

And by the time Jimin's head tips back and Taehyung's fingers slide lower, he's already thinking of the next morning—when he'll do it all over again.

Because Jeon's fists can bruise skin.

But Jimin's silence?

It lets him feel powerful.

goal: 400 notes lmao I'm not doing this shit again in 24 HOURS.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[fanaticsnail]

Baby

Masterlist Here

Word count: 1,000+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid wants to treat you like he does with all of his other partners. He wants to top you, degrade you, pound into you like a wild animal. But he can't. Not when you give him praise like that. He's far too in love with the pretty words fleeing from your lips to try.

Themes: Eustass Kid x afab!reader, praise kink, cream pie, Kid is Subby, barely any plot, "baby" term used endearingly for Kid (subtle reader), Kid whimpering, NSFW, 18+, smut, MDNI.

Notes: Stuck in heavy traffic while driving to the beach, other people driving this big ol' car, writing some short debauchery in the back seat like an idiot.

Eustass Kid, as gruff and abrasive as he is, likes to think he is a dominant man. An alpha, a leader of his pack as his crew, and the greatest tamer of brats there ever was. He was so good at putting his intimate partners in their place that he felt as if he was the king of all the seas.

And then there was you.

He wanted so bad to give you the same treatment he had given all his partners. Rolling you onto your stomach, ass up, pounding into you with reckless abandon and slapping at the rippling flesh. Using language like: “Yeah, baby. Moan my name. I want the whole crew to know who this ass belongs to.”

But he simply couldn't.

He couldn't put you into a position beneath him. Not because he treats you as his equal, that is a given as Kid’s partner, but because he becomes too lost in the feeling of his cock being squeezed by the tight grip of your needy cunt. When your pussy grips his cock, he feels the gummy flesh molding into the shape of him and it drives him insane.

He tried so hard to degrade you, tease you, remind you of his position as captain and boss, but every time he opened his mouth, all that exited was whimpers and whines.

“Oh, good boy, Kid. Just like that,” your sweet praises coo into his ear, "You're so fucking good to me." He can't help but release that needy preen from the back of his throat at the feeling. Soft mewls and gasps panting into your neck as he slaps his hips into yours from his position above you. The messy arousal from your pussy between you has him drunk on the feeling. So wet, so welcoming, so warm. All his.

There is no coherence in his thoughts. All he can think about is how tame he was becoming from just his cock kissing at your cervix. Deep into your plush cunt, tufts of his pubic hair grind against your clit. Whining and keening for him, you claw your blunt fingertips over his shoulders towards his neck to tug him away from hiding in your shoulder.

“Don't hide from me, baby. Lemme see your pretty face. I know you're close,” you whine at him, gasping as he increases speed and becomes manic. Chasing his high, he pulls away from hiding in your shoulder and raises his metal hand to hover over your throat. He wanted to choke you, growl at you for babying him, but again, he can't.

He loves it.

He wants to be your baby. He wants to keep hearing your praise as he treats you good. He wants to be your good little puppy, hearing your orders and redirecting him to bring out your largest climax.

Slap, slap, slap; his hips grow manic as he caresses your shoulder and touches his forehead to yours. Brushing noses, his jaw falls slack and shudders as you wrap your legs around his hips.

“C-Can I cum? Can I cum? Let me cum?” He begs, mewling for your permission like a pussy-whipped lover-boy with no experience with a partner. He almost wants to gag on the words, hating himself for asking permission, but immediately finds himself freeing those thoughts from his mind as you whimper your enthusiasm up at him.

“Please, Kid. Baby, I need you,” you whine, “Be good to me. Cum in me. Fill me up with your fucking cum-.”

“FUCK! F-Fuck!” He barks, immediately flooding your pussy with hot spurts of his pearlescent release. Gasping, whining, whimpering and pleading, he again buries his face in the crook of your neck and cries into you while his pace grows frantic.

“Oh-... Fuck-... So good, Kid. Such a good boy,” you praise him, feeling the coil in your stomach grow taut, “Keep going. Keep fucking going. Kid I'm almost-.”

Kid refuses to leave you unsatisfied. He will buck wildly into you until he feels the spasm of your walls contract and flutter around him. He chases himself through the oversensitive waves of overstimulation, his cock twitching and muscles aching as he keeps pumping you full of his hot load.

At one final, deep slap of his blunt tip hitting your g-spot, you unravel around him. Vision sparking white, you whimper and forge yourself to him like soldering metal to an iron rod. Hands locked over his shoulders, you keep up the rapid pace of his manic thrusting by digging your heels into the meat of his ass. He gasps and huffs at the feeling of your pussy wringing his cock of the final twitches of his release.

“Oh f-fuck, Kid. Fuck, th-that was-,” you babble feeling his body go limp as he smothers you by his broad chest. “Oh, baby, you did so good. So fucking good.” He lets out a pathetic little whimper, one that he feels eat at him as soon as it spills from his throat.

But he couldn't complain. Never complain. No matter how hard he tried to bite bark, bark at you, or growl out a gruff curse at the praise you would always coo at him, he couldn't bring himself to do it. All he could ever manage was a soft, barely there whisper of four words in sequence.

“Thank you,” he pants with his head foggy and breath thick, “Love you.”

He will get you back, no matter how long it took. He would make you submissive and pliant just like his past lovers. He didn't care how long it took for him to have you be the one begging and whining for him. But as he pulls away from the crook of your neck to peer into your eyes, his eyes always upturn and a soft pout plays on his painted lips.

“Good boy.”

Fuck.

He'll never be able to have you submit to him. Not when you praise him like that. Not when you look up at him like that, all blissed out and glowing from the etherial afterwaves of your orgasm.

He was a helpless little puppy in a giant body, wanting to continue to please you and cum in your perfect pussy as long as you allowed him to. He was yours completely.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[stellamarielu]

content: nsfw, 18+, joel miller x female reader, unspecified age gap, oral (f!recieving), fingering, praise, slight corruption kink

author's note: this has 0 plot, i was just in the mood to write something filthy about joel, sue me

Joel Miller would never admit it out loud but he was obsessed with the undeniably controversial age gap between the two of you. He loved having such a pretty young thing wrapped around his finger– and his cock.

You were much younger than him, and in some ways he felt as though he’d corrupted you.

Like now, he had you sprawled out on his bed, all spread open for him while he lapped at your core.

Once he learned that no one had ever gone down on you, he made it a point to be the first.

It made his pride swell every time you dug your fingers into his silver peppered locks as he worked between your legs. You’d mumble out little praises of “It feels so good” and “Please don’t stop” as he skillfully licked your clit. Maybe he was just depraved, but the way you looked with your back arched and your head falling back on the pillow made him feel a certain gratification at taking a part of your innocence. 

“That feel good sweet girl?”

You were nodding your head; unable to form a coherent response as soon as you felt him push two fingers into you. meanwhile his lips were gently kissing your clit. 

“So soft and sweet for me baby.” His breath on your core had you tightening around his fingers that were now curling into you. 

“Taste so good.”

He was back to using his mouth alongside his fingers, sucking and licking while he hit the spot in you that caused a whimper to spill from your lips. 

He was addicted to pleasing you; knowing that he had much more experience and using it to watch you come undone, all for him. He was always teaching you new things– showing you all the different ways to make each other feel good. 

“Gonna come Joel.” You were panting out in-between moans. Your breathless little whine causing him to keep a steady pace, desperate to hear those sweet noises you make when you come– he fucking loved that sound. 

You were burying your fingers even further into his hair as you pushed yourself against his tongue. Having you grinding on his face like that had Joel groaning into you, only adding to the overwhelm of pleasure.

His name was falling in a chant from your lips as you felt the wave of your release begin to hit you, your entire body tensing under its arrival. 

Joel felt your walls tightening, and pulled his face back just enough to watch the way you squeezed his fingers as they curled into you. God you were so perfect, he couldn’t get enough.

“Look at you baby, s’pretty for me.”

You were in the thick of your orgasm as Joel cooed at you, staring down between your legs and continuing to work his fingers in and out of you as you gushed around him. 

“That’s my girl.” Joel was entranced, watching you take his fingers while your body shuddered and pathetic little whimpers fell from your mouth. 

“My sweet fuckin’ girl.”

Still growling out from his place between your legs and not stopping anytime soon, Joel just watched as you rode out your high. Blissfully unaware that he was preparing to dive right back in, determined to have you coming on his tongue this time.

[chronicdelusionistsart]

Bernard Dowd and the Art of Recontextualization

I'm what you might call a "fake Batman fan" - that is, I've only watched most of the Batman animated series', all of the live action movies, most of the animated ones, played some of the video games... so, you know, probably thousands of hours of my life in Batman related media. But not the comics! Fake fan!

Frankly, I find the comics medium the way DC and Marvel do it to be really hard to follow. There's the fact that you can't really follow an individual solo character without them getting caught up in massive crossover events that ruin their arc and pacing, there's the soap-opera-iness that encourages cheap and revolving conflicts inherent to the longform monthly release schedule, the writer roulette, and there's also just that going back to try and thread a particular continuity or character is an exercise in frustration. Oh and the retcons. Everyone hates those. They've (basically) never been good. Don't remember this part it will never come up aga

But, you know, despite this - or maybe because of this - comics is a breeding ground for ideas. Because of the quick turnaround and the demand for novel conflicts, comics just churn out idea after idea. Good ideas, bad ideas, doesn't matter. Get it to print. Retcon it later if we write ourselves into a corner. Comics are often soooooo first draft coded. This is why I personally prefer adaptations - they often reimagine ideas and retcon them into new narratives where they can serve a more coherent plot. But what happens when a character is picked up for a second draft ... without actually contradicting the earlier material? While enriching the earlier material, even?

(SPOILERS for Tim Drake: Robin and uh... 20 year old comics under the cut!)

So, uh, quick disclaimer - because I have very little overall knowledge of DC's Comics continuity, there may be more interesting examples of times that what I'm going to point out was done. But I love Bernard and from a writer's POV I'm impressed with the way they did it so we're talking about Bernard lmao

The Beginning (Robin 1993) - Reading comics from the 2000s hurts in a way I can't describe

Okay so I heard Tim Drake is dating a guy now? (Penny Sonic voice) Whoa he's bisexual I didn't know that! I'm sure people on the internet are being very normal about this. Cool let's find out more about his new bf. I like starting from the beginning... so like yeah hold on while I crack open the Robin comic and take down what this guy's deal is.

😬

So basically the TL;DR of Bernard in his original appearances is that he seems to be an attempt to introduce some normal stakes teen drama into Tim's life. He has all the Funny Guy Friend Classics - he's got an inflated sense of his proficiency at pulling girls, he's inexplicably drawn towards the protagonist (who is cooler than him), he wants to date the most popular girl in school, and he wants to get down with older women!

This might just be me but while I was going through this I thought like, he almost reads a little uncanny, like he's been filtered through a Disney Teen Special. In practice he mostly serves to introduce Tim to the Real Plot, Darla Aquista, and be one of his ties to civilian life, which is, like, fine. He's ultimately just a background character and he's so unimportant that he only has one appearance after their school gets shot up(!!!), which is, again, to be more of an accessory to the Darla plot.

After this display of "wow this guy's kind of lowkey insane for offering to his resurrected bestie supervillainess to be her manager actually", he's dropped forever. Comics! We're not gonna unpack that.

The Sequel (Batman: Urban Legends) - We're Gonna Unpack That

Until almost two decades later when he calls Tim up for a date. And while I'm trying to skim over a lot to get to the point here and I don't really know the FULL context, it is notable that Tim is in the middle of an identity crisis / the cusp of adulthood when this happens (I think he just lost a spleen or something. That sucks dude). It's pretty implicit that part of the reason he's going to see Bernard is because he's someone familiar in a time when he's facing a lot of new and scary stuff.

And at first blush, he really does seem like the same dude. The familiar arm over the shoulder, the banter, it's all very casual and similar to the ribbing from high school -

- and I guess nothing has happened to Bernard in the interim haha he's just the funny friend guy right?

I really like the way they did this. I'm just unambiguously going to praise how good this is if you just came off the 2000s stuff. Comics have kind of breakneck pacing by nature but they really manage to condense down and then pull off a neat sleight of hand over the course of like four pages here. They re-establish Bernard as a silly guy and then wham you with the fact that yeah actually we ARE gonna unpack that. Fuck you Tim Drake life is ever changing and nothing stays the same

So the TL;DR on the rest of the Urban Legends storyline is that stuff like, HAPPENED to this guy while our focus was elsewhere. He learned martial arts, presumably so that he wouldn't be so helpless in the next school shooting level event, he got into a pain cult, he's just Not Doing Well. We find out, reading between the lines, that calling Tim on a date was probably one of his last attempts to reach out to someone when the cult stuff was getting really bad.

I've heard people complain that Bernard is uninteresting or not a character or entirely focused on his relationship with Tim, and I think that criticism is really weird considering that his entire re-debut focuses on the point that he's been having his own life and making his own (often wild) decisions - ones that really changed the course of his life - while Tim was gone. And it's also notable that this story is about how the fact that he's his own person and has changed and has made the nerve-wracking decision to take action and call Tim inspires Tim himself to take a leap and fling himself into the uncertain waters of young adulthood.

Me when I have my bi awakening and call to get out of a rut simultaneously because Cute Insane Guy Inspired Me. iconic

So that's how Bernard has changed. But that's not recontextualization, that's just the writers taking a guy and making him do another, cooler thing. Well hold the fuck on because we're not goddamn done.

What did he mean by th-

The Recontextualizerrrrr (Tim Drake: Robin) - Bernard is the funniest person in Gotham City. I'll not be taking constructive criticism on this

Tim Drake: Robin is the followup to the Urban Legends story and Tim is the main character fr. Obviously. but Bernard is also a major character. Later, he even gets to be a POV character. But they don't do that for several issues, instead treating us to his shenanigans from Tim's point of view as he solves a bizarre serial murder case and like, they're cute! And neither of them are normal in the slightest. I love that for them.

Again, TL;DR, there are a lot of interactions where Bernard talks to Tim both in and out of costume, but we don't get to see his POV until they go out to a restaurant and meet Bernard's parents there by accident and Tim has to run off to do Robin stuff. And like... a lot of stuff happens in this one bois. Whammy after whammy

We're suddenly introduced explicitly to a lot that was only implied or just completely unavailable before. Bernard's parents are ragingly homophobic. Probably were never great even before that. He suffers from depression. All that is a lot to. wait. hold on a second

he knows?????

HE KNOWS????

Okay so if you stop at this point and reread the entire run so far you find out that Bernard is in fact the biggest troll in the entire universe. This is the moment that cemented him as my favourite, by the way. Like I had a feeling that he knew and I was just laughing my ass off when my suspicions were confirmed.

But this is really interesting on top of that because Bernard has been revealed to be, at this point, a guy who you should look deeper than the surface to understand. Someone who masks his true self and whose true motivations you can only uncover if you're really looking past the facade. Even with Tim, he sort of offers Tim and Robin half the story each, taking advantage of Robin's "distance" to give out information he wants Tim to think about but that he's reluctant to talk about frankly while at the same time almost daring Tim to open up about his identity.

Absolutely most normal way to tell your bf about your cult trauma. You'll always be famous to me Bernard Dowd

This is a really neat trick by the writers. It makes Bernard a multifaceted character who got to quietly develop while we were mostly focused on Tim, and there's some clever clever foreshadowing they set up in this run to achieve this. If it were just this, I would call it good writing.

But it actually goes one level deeper than that and becomes something really really special. because as we all know, Bernard was not conceived to be this way, he was a one-off guy who was kind of annoying and he was essentially retconned to be, like. Gay? Have depth? Be funny? All of those things?

The Seamless Retcon (Robin 1993 Again) - We took your guy and we gave him gay subtext and it worked astoundingly well

This is not a new observation btw, I've seen a ton of posts to this effect. But oh my god. Some of these panels really hit different with the new Bernard lore. Like holy fuck just read this back to back

There are tons of moments like this. There's SO MUCH that the revelation that Bernard is queer adds to his initially extremely underwhelming tenure in the Robin comics. A reread almost begs the question of what Bernard must have been thinking at any given moment! BRO YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO FUCK HIS STEPMOM. That's completely believable as a next-level closeting move and goes from kind of annoying to turbofunny.

Like yeah of course he's acting like a douche. His father is a status-chasing asshole and he's five racks deep in the closet. Of course he gravitates towards Tim - his gaydar is pinging and he thinks Tim is cute. And it's also pinging that Tim is like. You know

None of this would hit as hard if the writers had not set up Bernard as someone who masks so much. They worked it in that character trait to mean that you could always glean information deeper than the surface from his top level interactions.

Because of this, Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread. Like I said, that's a set of observations that are not new to me. But something that really gets to me is how seamless and intentional it is. It really feels like the writer sat down and took their time devising a guy that is believable as that other guy, but only if you read back with certain context.

The conclusion - Comics. Man.

So is this just about how Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread and that he can exist independent of Tim and all the haters are wrong. Yeah of course. 💖

But also like, I have thoroughly proven to myself that I was kinda wrong to just reject the published comics medium out of hand. I see now that there's room for the writer's roulette to hit the jackpot and that something I mistook as an outright flaw, the winding and unfocused and often improvised nature of it, can be ridden like a wave if you're skilled enough to do it. Meghan Fitzmarten is a goddamned genius.

I guess I have to read comics now. Fuck